The Cat's Cradle Affair
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: When the office cat Baba Yaga ends up expecting kittens on Illya's birthday, it allows Napoleon to plan a surprise dinner right under his preoccupied partner's nose.


_Notes: this is a sweet little slice-of-life piece I did on the occasion of David McCallum's birthday today!_

* * *

It had been a long several weeks since Illya and Napoleon discovered that their cat, Baba Yaga the Egyptian Mau, was expecting kittens. The first reaction, after noticing her increased weight and appetite back in July, was to rush her to the vet, who gave them the confirmation, leaving the both of them—but Illya especially—flabbergasted.

"How did this happen!?" he had exclaimed on the way home, holding the surprisingly serene cat in his arms.

"Well, it stands to reason, it must be one of the other cats in the U.N.C.L.E. animal facility," Napoleon had said. "When we take Baba Yaga home, she never leaves the apartment—so it has to be some romantic encounter that occurred during her work as the Office Cat."

Illya considered this.

"Then it stands to reason that the father is still in our headquarters," Illya had said. "We have not lost or transferred any of them in the last month."

"Well, sure," Napoleon had replied. "But, as I understand it, cats generally do well as single mothers."

"I am going to find the father," Illya had declared.

"Illya, I just said-"

"I will find him."

"Illya, I know Baba Yaga is like a daughter to you—she is to me, too. But what exactly do you hope to accomplish by finding the father? I hate to break it to you, but Baba Yaga is the only Mau in the office—these kittens are going to be mixed breeds no matter who the father is. And even if she'd _had_ an affair with another Mau, the kittens most likely can't be shown since we have no way of proving Baba Yaga's pedigree. I mean, we can't exactly go to a cat show and say that I made a wish to Bastet and she gave us an authentic Egyptian Mau kitten."

" _I will find him_ ," Illya had repeated again, an edge to his voice.

"Ahh, I see; this is a matter of principle," Napoleon had realized. "So, what are you planning to do—hold a shotgun wedding?"

Illya had given him a look.

"Are you not the least bit curious as to who is responsible for this?" he had queried, after a while.

"Well, naturally," Napoleon had replied. "But I think we should be concerning ourselves more with our little mother-to-be."

And Illya had conceded that Napoleon's point was correct.

It did not, however, stop Illya from searching for the father of the developing kittens as the weeks went on—though his plans to play detective, however, had been thwarted multiple times by Waverly, who was unsympathetic to the situation. Waverly had reminded them that they had brought Baba Yaga to the office to escape their landlady's wrath, and so were to blame for not taking the proper precautions to prevent such an occurrence. As such, they had to continue with their missions as usual during Baba Yaga's gestation (all the while fielding requests for kittens from their coworkers), and it was only as her due date drew nearer that Waverly finally granted them the time off.

Napoleon dryly noted that Baba Yaga's longer-than-normal gestation seemed to prove that she was a pure Mau after all; it was well into mid-September by the time she finally started searching for a place to nest, and as Napoleon and Illya both went out of their way to make her comfortable and provide her with a place to nest, sneaking her back to their apartment so that she wouldn't have to deal with curious onlookers. And Illya also took whatever time he could to go over the U.N.C.L.E. cats one by one to see if he could narrow down who the father was. He was quite invested in this endeavor, in addition to seeing to Baba Yaga's comfort. In fact, he was so absorbed in these tasks, Napoleon began to suspect that Illya had completely forgotten that his birthday was rapidly approaching.

Napoleon had always gone out of his way to make sure that Illya had an enjoyable birthday; Napoleon's presents were usually large and lavish gifts that Illya would get embarrassed about for a while, but then end up appreciating them.

He had already selected a gift for Illya this year—a set of imported blue silk pajamas that he was sure Illya would appreciate once the kittens were born and he had the opportunity to rest and relax again. Illya never poked around to find out what his presents were beforehand, but Napoleon found it rather amusing that he was able to walk right into the apartment with a wrapped box under his arm and not even get a double-take from Illya, who was gently stroking Baba Yaga as she snoozed in her nesting basket.

And so, Napoleon decided to see how much he could get away with in regards to planning a large, gourmet dinner for Illya right under his nose. He also wanted to help with Baba Yaga's birth, of course; in order to do that, he would have to get a bit of help in preparing the meal.

And so, the morning of Illya's birthday, as Baba Yaga seemed to grow more restless and Illya had stopped off at the office to go over the likely suspects once more, Napoleon opened the apartment door for his mother, Cora Solo.

"Thanks for coming by to help, Ma," Napoleon said, as he hugged her. "I think Illya could use a big meal like this."

"Oh, and I'm only happy to help; you know I'm very fond of him," Cora said. "Your father sends his love, of course; he wanted to come, but someone had to look after the, ah…" She cast a glance over at Baba Yaga. "D-o-g-s," she finished. "And don't worry; I did a load of laundry and these are all fresh clothes—I didn't want to have any of their scent on me while I was around Baba Yaga." She stopped by the cat basket and gently cooed to her. "How are you, you little thing?"

"A nervous, first-time mother-to-be," Napoleon said, as Baba Yaga purred back.

"Please, I wasn't nervous when I had you," Cora scoffed. "Anyway, where is Illya? I would have thought he'd be here."

"Oh, he'll be back," Napoleon said. "He's trying to ferret around and figure out who the father of the kittens is."

"…Why?"

"A matter of principle," Napoleon said, with a shrug. "Even though Baba Yaga can handle it on her own."

"Oh, of course she can handle it on her own," Cora said, giving the cat a scritch behind the ears. "The only thing your father did when you were born was give you that ridiculous name!"

"…So you've told me."

"I wanted to name you Albert!"

"OK, ah, as fascinating as this is, today is about Illya's birthday, not mine," Napoleon reminded her.

"Right. Still, he's going to figure out what's going on," she said. "The moment he sees me, the cat will be out of the bag." She flinched at her choice of words and apologized to Baba Yaga.

"I wouldn't be too sure, Ma," Napoleon said. "I, personally, think he's actually been too preoccupied with the soon-to-arrive kittens to keep track of what day it is."

"Really, Napoleon, I think you're exaggerating…"

Cora trailed off as the key turned in the front door, and Illya entered the apartment with his notebook.

"Good news! I have narrowed it down to two…" Illya trailed off as he noticed Cora there. "Mother! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you here?"

Cora blinked and then shrugged slightly as Napoleon gave her a "told you…" look, and then she turned back to Illya.

"I'm here to help with the kittens," she said. "I know you two look after Baba Yaga well, but I've had experience with breeding puppies, after all. It was all Napoleon's idea that I come by."

Illya looked to Napoleon in gratitude.

"Thank you," he said. "I would not have thought of it!"

"There seems to be more you're not thinking of," Napoleon murmured in quiet amusement as Illya now went through his notes again.

Illya didn't hear him.

"As I was saying earlier, I have narrowed down the father to either the American shorthair or the Russian blue," Illya finished. "It seems that all of the other tomcats were on assignments, so it must be one of the two!"

"…You realize the irony of that, right?" Napoleon asked.

" _Da_ , I do," Illya replied, rolling his eyes. "But I will know for certain which one it is once the kittens are born—the American shorthair is orange."

"I think you'll probably find out before the day is through," Cora said, observing Baba Yaga's obvious discomfort. "But what do you intend to do once you've found out who the father is?"

"I will determine that later," Illya said, sitting on Baba Yaga's other side. "Right now, I think she needs my attention more than anything."

"You are absolutely right," Napoleon said. "Hey, Ma, we haven't had a good talk in a while; why don't we hang out in the kitchen? Illya will let us know if anything starts happening—won't you, Illya?"

" _Da_ , I will," the Russian said, gently stroking the cat under her chin.

Cora whispered a "good luck" to Baba Yaga and then headed into the kitchen with Napoleon.

* * *

Not even the scent of preparing food in the kitchen was enough to jolt Illya into the realization that Napoleon and Cora were preparing a birthday meal. They had decided on a seven-course gourmet meal ("Lucky seven," had been decided almost instantaneously between the mother-and-son card sharks).

Throughout the day, Napoleon and Cora took breaks from the cooking to spend time with Illya and Baba Yaga, and it was around 4 in the afternoon, with most of the cooking finished, when Baba Yaga suddenly started to yowl loudly, in a tone that neither of the agents had ever heard before.

"What's that? Is she in labor?" Napoleon asked.

"Well, she's not trying to sing an operetta!" Cora scoffed.

The three of them sat by her, trying to comfort her as best they could, and, over the course of two hours, four kittens were born—two black like their mother, and two silvery-gray. An exhausted Baba Yaga was soon in a well-earned catnap as the tiny kittens greedily nursed from her.

"She did very well for a first-time mother," Cora said. "…Better than I would have done with quadruplets. Napoleon, thank you for being an only child."

" _Ma_ …!" Napoleon facepalmed.

"Not a trace of orange fur on any of them…" Illya noted. "The father is the Russian blue! I shall be giving him a nice, stern talk."

"And then a lot of fish because you won't be able to stay mad at him," Napoleon predicted.

"…Perhaps," Illya said, noncommittally.

"Incidentally," Napoleon said. "When you were at the office today-"

"I didn't go to our office; I went straight to the animal facility and out," Illya said. "I wanted to get back here as soon as possible."

"Ah, so you wouldn't have seen your desk…"

"Why, what would be on my desk?" Illya asked.

"Oh, a whole bunch of these," Napoleon said, taking the wrapped box of pajamas out from behind his back.

Illya stared at the box and blinked, and then looked to Cora, who had gotten up and had casually placed a cake on the table as she whistled nonchalantly.

"…Today's the 19th, isn't it?" Illya realized.

"Took you long enough!" Napoleon said, drawing an arm around him. "Happy Birthday, Illya!"

Baba Yaga woke up and let out a chirrup as she looked up at them.

"Well, yes, of course, Happy Birthday to your little brood, too," Napoleon added. He turned back to Illya. "I figured I'd take you out on the town tomorrow since we were all a bit preoccupied today, but the banquet can be thrown tonight."

Illya could only stare as he saw the rest of the seven-course meal all laid out on the dining table.

"Is anyone else…?"

"No, it's just the three of us," Napoleon said. "I know you don't like parties, so this was a little something that Ma and I came up with. Actually, part of the motivation was seeing how much we could do under your nose before you noticed."

Illya gave a good-natured shrug, but he was smiling.

"Did I amuse you?"

"Oh, yeah," Napoleon said, grinning. "Come on; you can open this after dinner. For now, let's eat!"

"Gladly," Illya said, suddenly hungry now.

And as they sat down to the meal together, Illya had to reflect on how this had definitely been one of his more favorite birthdays: a quiet day with family—a family that had grown in size by four.


End file.
